Page 193 of His Drama Queen

"Yeah. I'm still here." I smoothed out the crumpled letter on my lap. "I'm not running."

"Why?" Not accusing. Genuinely trying to understand.

"Because I'm not her." The words came easier than I expected. "I'm not running from something I can fight. And because the pack—they're trying. They were monsters, Dad. Everything she warned about. But they're choosing to change. And I'm choosing to let them prove they can."

His hand found mine. Squeezed. "That's brave."

"Or stupid."

"Maybe both." A sad smile. "Your mother couldn't do it. Couldn't find that balance. I tried to help her, but I didn't understand what she needed until she was already gone."

"Did you know? That she felt like that?"

His sigh was heavy. "I knew she was unhappy. I didn't know how bad it was. The bond makes you complacent—everything feels fine because biologically it is fine. I should have paid attention to what she wasn't saying."

"Could the bond have kept her here? Forced her to stay?"

"It made leaving harder. The physical pain of separation is real. But she did it anyway." He looked out the windshield. "The bond's strong, Vesper. But it's not absolute. Not if someone wants to break it badly enough."

The revelation settled over me like snow. Quiet. Cold. Clarifying.

The bond wasn't absolute.

My mother proved that.

Which meant every day I stayed was a choice. Not biology. Not force.

Choice.

"I need to go," I said abruptly. "The Alphas are probably losing their minds. The bond's been screaming distress at them for an hour."

"Are you sure you're okay?"

"Yeah." And surprisingly, I meant it. "I'm okay, Dad. Thank you for bringing this. For waiting until I was ready."

"I'm proud of you," he said as I opened the door. "Your mother would be too, even if she can't say it."

"She would have been proud that I'm not running?"

"She would have been proud that you're stronger than she was." He reached over and squeezed my hand. "Showcase is this weekend, right?"

"Saturday night. You're still coming?"

"Wouldn't miss it for the world."

I hugged him—quick, awkward, but real—and then I was walking back across campus with my mother's letter in my bag and a strange sense of clarity settling over me.

I knew what I needed to do.

Thepackhousewasquiet when I got home.

Home. When had I started calling it that?

Dorian was pacing in the living room. He spun when he heard the door, and the relief on his face was almost painful.

"Where were you?" Not angry. Terrified. "The bond—fuck, I thought—"

"My father came to campus." I dropped my bag by the door. "He brought me a letter."